My Midlife Crisis
And then the mold came. And then the locusts. You went from crescent moon to triangle. There were songbirds in the palapa—no, there were spiders—yes, but seven of them were scorpions. I looked on the tree trunks as on dinosaurs and then the jeeps came. You went from half moon to happy baby. The dogs needed bathing, were attacking each other. I missed the phone call but not the pickpockets. I machetied the coconut and stuck a straw through it and gave it to the German. And then the rain came. The oceans were always warmer than the swimming pools. I had eight limbs, I swear, I counted them. There was never enough food. You slowly became aware of the breath. Pelicans in formation. The healer touched me and I changed my body. I was just my skeleton. There was never enough room in the taxicab. I covered myself in ash and stopped eating. You went from fish to corpse. And then the winter.